“And she covered herself with a veil, and she wrapped herself, and she sat at the opening of eyes…” — Gen. 38:14

The tale of Judah and Tamar has stimulated readers for millennia. The narrative includes grief, family loss, sexual intrigue, the threat of death, chilling suspense, and, underlying it all, deep irony. Irony occurs in a story when a character’s expected action or circumstance is juxtaposed with a different, often opposite action or circumstance. For instance, it would be ironic if a fire station burned down. This is ironic because what we expect — that a fire station would be the most equipped to put out a fire — is met with a different or opposite reality.

The use of irony can serve a number of non-exclusive purposes. These include humor, criticism, or even condemnation. We shall examine the story of Judah and Tamar and note how it uses irony to criticize Judah’s behavior in a quite amusing way. We will first introduce the story, then we will consider the ironic dynamic between its two main characters.

Genesis 38 opens with Judah’s departure from his brothers. After settling in a Canaanite town, Judah married a woman, had three sons, and found a wife named Tamar for his firstborn. Due to the wickedness of Judah’s firstborn, the Lord put him to death, leaving Tamar a childless widow. As was customary at the time for widows without children, Tamar was married off to Judah’s second born in order to bear a child in the name of her deceased husband. However, Judah’s second born was likewise wicked and, as a consequence, he died too.

Fearing the boys’ death was in some way due to Tamar, Judah was reluctant to give her in marriage to his third son. He sent her to her father’s house to live as a widow with the promise to give her in marriage at a later time. That time never came.

The Use of Narrative Irony

“The entrance of Enaim”

Some time later, Judah went on a trip to Timnah to visit his sheep shearers. It is at this point in the narrative that we begin to encounter some highly ironic events. When Tamar heard about her father-in-law’s travels, she does three things. First, she “took off her widow’s clothing” (Gen. 38:14). Why does she take off the clothing that signals her status as a widow? The narrator is silent with regard to motive, leaving the reader to search for Tamar’s intention as the story progresses. At this point we might assume she took off her widow’s clothing because she intends to present herself as marriageable for Judah’s third son. However, we must keep reading to see if this possibility plays out.

Second, Tamar “covered herself with a veil (Heb: ṣāꜥiyp̱)” (Gen. 38:14). The only other story in the Bible to feature a veilis when Rebekah meets her husband Isaac for the first time: “and she took the veil (Heb: ṣāꜥiyp̱) and she covered herself” (Gen. 24:65). This reinforces our previous hypothesis that Tamar is getting ready to meet her new husband. Third, “she wrapped herself up (Heb: ꜥālap̱)” (Gen. 34:14). This is a difficult word which has been variously understood by interpreters as “covering oneself” or, perhaps, “disguising oneself” (see BDB, עָלַף). While covering oneself could simply imply the use of a traveling cloak, the possibility of a disguise should raise questions: Is Tamar preparing herself to meet her new husband, or is she up to something else?

Finally, “she sat at the entrance (Heb: peṯaḥ) of Enaim (Heb: ꜥēynayim)” (Gen. 38:14). The “entrance of Enaim” has been translated both as “an open place” (e.g., KJV, NKJV) and “the gate/opening/entrance of [a place called] Enaim” (e.g., NLT, NIV, ESV, NASB, etc.). However, since Enaim (Heb: ꜥēynayim) means “eyes,” and the Hebrew word “peṯaḥ” means “opening,” the underlying Hebrew phrase can literally be rendered, “she sat at the opening of eyes.”

What is the significance of a place named “the opening of eyes?” The concept of eyes being opened is a common figure of speech for discovery — just think of the hymn Amazing Grace: “I once was blind, but now I see.” So the fact that Tamar would cover herself, maybe even disguise herself, at a place called “the opening of eyes” is highly ironic. We must keep reading to see how this line of irony develops.

“She covered her face”

When Judah came by the “opening of eyes,” he saw his daughter-in-law. Unfortunately for him, he did not recognize her. Rather, “He thought she was a prostitute, since she covered her face” (Gen. 38:15). Here we find a brilliant contrast between action and setting: “covered” vs. “opening;” “face” vs. “eyes.” While Judah might have encountered Tamar at the opening of eyes, Judah’s eyes, thanks to Tamar, were indeed shut.

Since he thought she was a prostitute, Judah propositioned his unrecognizable daughter-in-law for sex. It is left ambiguous whether this was intended by Tamar or if this was a surprise. Regardless, once the offer was made, Tamar took advantage of the blinded Judah. Since Judah’s payment for sex would be delayed, she asked for a pledge in the form of his signet ring, cord, and staff. Once securing the pledge, Tamar let Judah come into her, and she conceived.

“Please Recognize!”

When Judah heard that Tamar was pregnant, he was (ironically) indignant. He then sent for her to be brought out and burned to death. However, as she was brought to her accuser, she made a request that would result in her vindication. She sent a message to Judah saying, “By the man who owns these, I am pregnant … please recognize whose these are, the signet ring, the cord, and the staff” (Gen. 28:25). Immediately, “Judah recognized” that these items belonged to him and that he in fact was the father of Tamar’s unborn child.

Amusingly, the man who previously failed to recognize his daughter-in-law’s identity recognizes the items that lead to both her vindication and his condemnation. But beyond mere amusement, this ironic turn of events is a perfect example of measure-for-measure justice in biblical narrative. We might remember from Genesis 37 that both Judah and his brothers plotted the death of their younger brother, Joseph. In a turn of events, Judah suggested that, rather than kill their brother, they ought to sell him into slavery. Needing an explanation to give their father for their brother’s sudden absence, the brothers spun a story about Joseph being killed by a wild animal. In order to make this believable, they took Joseph’s robe, dipped it in blood, and asked Jacob to “recognize whether it is [Joseph’s] robe or not” (Gen. 37:32). As Judah urged his father to “recognize” the robe of his son, resulting in deception, now Tamar urges Judah to “recognize” his own possessions, resulting in his condemnation.

As we have seen, Genesis 38 is filled with narrative irony. From the location of certain events (Enaim) to the function of clothing in the drama (Tamar’s veil, Judah’s signet ring, etc.), the story, which in many ways strikes a serious tone, is laced with humor aimed at criticizing and, ultimately, condemning Judah. Of the many things we could conclude in light of this brief survey, one fact is inescapable: our God, the divine author of Scripture, has a creative, often ironic, sense of justice.

“but his disciples took him by night and let him down through an opening in the wall, lowering him in a basket” (Acts 9:25)

Biblical narrative is full of comedic expression: characters are sarcastic (e.g., 1 Sam. 21:15); names have ironic relevance to the plot (e.g., Gen. 4:8; Abel means a momentary vapor); events are occasionally outright laughable (can anyone read 1 Sam. 19:18-24 and not laugh?). Sometimes biblical stories contain unexpected reversals that change the trajectory of a plot in an amusing way. This is the case in the story of Paul’s conversion.

In the beginning of his story, the apostle Paul resembles king Saul. However, once he began to follow Jesus, Paul’s character switches from resembling Saul to David. This is an ironic turn of events, a comedic reversal that should both amuse and inform the reader. We will briefly examine both of these analogies and draw a conclusion about its significance for the christian life.

Paul=Saul

The apostle Paul is, of course, also named Saul (Acts 13:9). Not only do these two characters share the same name, but they are both from the tribe of Benjamin (1 Sam. 9:1, 2; 9:21; Rom. 11:1; Phil. 3:5). As the first king of Israel, Saul was the most famous Benjaminite. In a culture where individuals were often named after heroes of the past, it is likely that Paul was named after his famous kinsman from Israel’s monarchy.

Beyond sharing a common name, Paul and Saul both persecuted an anointed, Davidic figure. In Saul’s life, this drama is narrated in Samuel 18-31 where he sought to kill David in his house (1 Sam. 19:11), chased him out of the city (1 Sam. 19:18), and pursued him into the wilderness (1 Sam. 22:1; 23:15, 29; etc.). Similarly, the apostle Paul persecuted Jesus, the son of David. He did this by persecuting the church, which Jesus equates with persecuting himself (Acts 9:4-5). Like Saul, Paul sought out christians in their homes (Acts 8:3), driving them from their own cities (Acts 8:1).

Paul=David

After his conversion, in an ironic reversal, the persecutor becomes the persecuted. At this point, the second analogy comes into focus: that between Paul and David. Like David, Paul, after his conversion, was persecuted. He was stoned (Acts 14:19), beaten (16:22), imprisoned (Acts 16:23), and tried in court (Acts 23-26) for his trust in Jesus. Furthermore, like David who fled into the wilderness, Saul too spend time in the desert once his persecution began (Gal. 1:17).

Perhaps the most striking resemblance between Paul and David is a certain moment when each of them fled their persecutor. In these two stories, the persecutors planned to murder the heroes, sought them out by night, but did not find them because they were lowered by allies through an upper window and fled the city (1 Sam. 19:11-12; Acts 9:24-25).

Paul Conformed to David’s Image

Why do we find this sudden, ironic switch from a Paul=Saul analogy to a Paul=David? To put it another way, why is Paul humorously transformed from Saul to David? I believe this lies in the principle that those who follow Christ begin to be conformed into his likeness (Rom. 8:29). David, the persecuted king, prefigures the son of David, Jesus Christ. As soon as Paul began to follow Jesus, he began to experience the same kind of things that the prefigured Jesus (and Jesus himself) experienced.

This reversal in Paul’s fortune is a template for our own lives. Whether an outright persecutor or an ambivalent tolerator, at whatever stage we begin to follow Christ we may begin to experience the kind of things Jesus experienced. For some like Paul, this could look like imprisonment and physically intense persecution; for others, a gentler yet-still-disruptive force will work on our lives. Regardless of what form this takes, the comedic reversal on display in Paul’s life provides an illustration of God’s preordaining one individual “to be conformed into the image of [God’s] Son” (Rom. 8:29; ESV).

In any form of storytelling, authors frequently employ modes of comparison between characters. Sometimes characters complement one another, resembling each other’s traits, actions, or other distinguishing features (e.g., Frodo and Bilbo in The Lord of the Rings). Other times characters act as literary foils to one another, each representing opposite characteristics of the other (e.g., Harry and Draco in Harry Potter, or Edward and Jacob in Twilight).

Characters who have similar features can be considered analogous or in analogy with one another. Character analogy is one tool the biblical authors used to portray characters in Scripture in vivid, three-dimensional portraits. In this short study, we will consider how the author of 1 Samuel used character analogy to craft a dynamic, multifaceted presentation of a woman named Hannah.

The author opens 1 Samuel by introducing us to a man named Elkanah. After telling us where he was from and what family he belonged to, the author gives us information about Elkanah’s immediate family, information that launches us into a character analogy. First, we are told that Elkanah had two wives: “The name of the one was Hannah, and the name of the other, Peninnah. Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children” (1 Sam. 1:2; ESV). Does this sound familiar? A Hebrew man with two wives, one of whom is infertile?

Scripture is full of infertile wife stories. In three of these instances, the infertile wife has a rival: Sarah and Hagar; Leah and Rachel; and Hannah and Peninnah. We will focus on the similarities between Hannah and the Sarah-Hagar stories, first noting how Hannah resembles Sarah, then observing her similarities to Hagar.

Hannah = Sarah

The obvious parallel between Hannah and Sarah is their barrenness at the beginning of their stories. In fact, no sooner is Sarah (then known as Sarai) introduced into the drama of Genesis before her infertility is revealed: “Now Sarai was barren; she had no child” (Gen. 11:30; ESV). Along with the promise of inherited land, hope in God’s promise of offspring is the central motif of the whole Abrahamic narrative (e.g., Gen. 12:2, 7; 13:15-16; 15:3, 18; 17:9). Sarah’s infertility is the chief obstacle to the fulfillment of this promise to Abraham.

In her frustration, Sarah sought to gain a son by using one of her female slaves as a surrogate without thinking through the potential ramifications. Sarah gave Hagar, a slave she acquired in Egypt, to Abraham as a wife. Though the text does not indicate that Abraham explicitly mistreated Hagar (he is notably passive in this story), it is apparent that Sarah is the favored wife.

Like Sarah, Elkanah favored Hannah above her rival. This is displayed when Elkanah would “give portions [from their annual sacrifice] to Peninnah his wife,” but “to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the LORD had closed her womb” (1 Sam. 1:4-5).

These two points of analogy between Hannah and Sarah raise a number of questions: How similar is Hannah to Sarah? Does she have a similar temperament? Will they have similar destinies? If Hannah has a child, will he too be a great patriarch like Sarah’s son, Isaac? The character analogy raises these questions — even expectations — but a second analogy threatens to complicate the first.

Hannah = Hagar

Hannah also resembles Hagar. First, both Hagar and Hannah received announcements from a divine messenger concerning their unborn children. For Hagar, this occurred when she ran away from Sarah. While in the wilderness, an angel gave her a prophetic announcement concerning the birth of her son (Gen. 16:10-12). In Hannah’s case, Eli, the High Priest, saw Hannah’s distress concerning her infertility. Though he did not hear her prayer for a child, he nevertheless gave her a blessing: “[T]he God of Israel grant your petition that you have made to him” (1 Sam. 1:16; ESV). Functioning in the office of the High Priest, Eli is a messenger of God in a role similar to Hagar’s angel.

Second, both Hannah and Hagar were oppressed by their rivals. After Hagar conceived a child, Sarah was filled with jealousy. This drove Sarah to “deal harshly with her,” to the point that Hagar fled from Sarah’s presence (Gen. 16:6; ESV). When the angel spoke to her, he described her experience as affliction (Heb: ʿŏniy; Gen. 16:11). Similarly, Peninnah “used to provoke her [Hannah] grievously to irritate her, because the LORD had closed her womb” (1 Sam. 1:6; ESV). When describing her experience to God, Hannah too described her experience as affliction (Heb: ʿŏniy; 1 Sam. 1:11). Like Hagar’s flight from Sarah, this drove Hannah to seek solitude during her family’s annual pilgrimages.

Third, both Hagar and Hannah depart from their families to weep in solitary places. For Hagar, this takes place after Sarah bore Isaac. Abraham sent her and her child away and, once their provisions were gone, Hagar “lifted up her voice and wept” (Heb: bākāh; Gen. 21:16; ESV). Likewise, after Hannah’s family ate their sacrificial meal, she departed from her family. Going off to be alone, “[s]he was deeply distressed and prayed to the LORD and wept (Heb: bākāh) bitterly” (1 Sam. 1:10; ESV).

Finally, it should be noted that the names of both Hannah and Hagar’s sons are similar. Following the command of the angel, Hannah named her child Ishmael, “because the LORD has listened (Heb: šāmaʿ) to [Hannah’s] affliction” (Gen. 16:11; ESV). The name Ishmael means “God will listen,” a comforting name for a woman afflicted by her own family. When Hannah bore her son, she named him Samuel. Though, on the one hand, the explanation given for his name links it with the Hebrew word “to ask” (Heb: šāʾal), his name visibly and audibly resembles the phrase, “God has listened (Heb: šāmaʿ),” creating a double entendre. Therefore, the names of Hagar and Hannah’s children are respectively, God-will-listen and God-has-listened.

So, Who is Hannah?

When noticing points of analogy between two characters, it can be tempting to simplistically conclude that “this character” must be like “that character.” If Hannah is to be compared with Sarah, we might mistakenly conclude that she is jealous and prone to oppress rival women. Additionally, we might assume that she too will gain a son who will become a patriarch of a great nation, in turn making her one of the great matriarchs.

The fact that Hannah is also analogous to Hagar gives her character additional depth. While barren and favored (like Sarah), she is oppressed, driven to tears, and separate from her family (like Hagar). She contains in herself a mixture of traits from both women. The multifaceted presentation of her character makes it difficult to predict her future and the destiny of her son.

If, on the one hand, she is more like Sarah, then her son Samuel might resemble Isaac: a recipient of the Abrahamic blessing, a patriarch of Israel, one holding a central place in the memory of God’s people. On the other hand, if she is more like Hagar, then Samuel could take on Ishmael-like characteristics: blessed by God, passed over in favor of another, ultimately drifting into obscurity.

Why Bother Noticing Character Analogy?

One might ask what benefit noticing such analogies brings to our Bible reading. How does this affect one’s devotional life? What does any of this have to do with loving Jesus and loving our neighbor? I will suggest just two benefits to appreciating character analogy.

First, noticing character analogy helps us discover additional facets to biblical characters and brings others into sharper focus. In the case of Hannah, while we might initially skim over her persecution at the hands of her rival, the analogy with Hagar brings this aspect of her experience to the forefront. Additionally, at the beginning of the story, we might not expect that Hannah’s child will be anything of national significance. However, as soon as one notices analogies with both Sarah and Hagar, we realize that her son’s destiny may be like that of Isaac or Ishmael.

Second, every time an analogy is noticed between two characters, there is an invitation to re-examine and re-explore the biblical story. After reading a biblical narrative so many times, one might think they know the story and characters inside-out. However, when one notices an unexplored character analogy, one may re-read an entire narrative and consider the relevant characters with this analogy in mind. The invitation to re-read stories from a fresh perspective is a marvelous opportunity for deeper Scripture meditation as we draw near to Jesus through his Word.

And his spear was in his hand… (1 Sam. 19:9; 20:33; 22:6)

Oftentimes in media, whether in film, television, music, or literature, a motif is woven throughout a story. Motif is the repetition of a concept, action, object, or other distinctive marker which carries some symbolic meaning. Out of the countless examples of motif, I think of “the girl in the red coat” who is featured in the World War II film Schindler’s List (1993). Twice in this black-and-white film, color is introduced through the red coat of a young Jewish girl, drawing our attention to this peripheral figure. Through the use of color in the midst of a sea of black and white, the red-coated girl becomes a repeated motif, inviting the audience to mull over the significance of this girl within the larger movie.

In a similar way, literary motif is one way the Holy Spirit communicates through the inspired authors of Scripture. Saul’s spear (Heb: ḥănît) is his weapon of choice, particularly in his pursuit and attempted murder of David. There are a total of five scenes featuring the spear, culminating in David’s surprising victory over Saul. In this short study, we will observe the development of the spear motif. First, we will take note of four scenes where Saul attacks another with his spear; second, we will consider David’s surprising victory over Saul; third, we will reflect on how this motif presents us with a picture both of Jesus’ victory over the spiritual rulers and his treatment of human enemies.

Saul’s Attacks

The first scene which features Saul’s spear takes place in the royal house. After David had been anointed by Samuel, the Spirit of God departed from Saul and was replaced by a distressing spirit. When Saul became distressed, it was David’s job to sooth him by playing the harp. However, this was problematized by Saul’s growing jealousy over both David’s military success and general popularity (c.f., 1 Sam. 18:6-9).

Following this, we are given the ominous report that, “While David was daily playing the harp which was in his hand, the spear was in Saul’s hand” (1 Sam. 18:10). The report of these contrasting hands set up a comparison between the peaceful presence of David, attempting to sooth the king with his harp, and the murderous tendencies of Saul with his weapon of choice. No sooner is Saul’s spear introduced into the story before Saul “hurled the spear, for he thought, ‘I will strike David against the wall,’” in his first attempted murder (1 Sam. 18:11).

Escaping this initial attack, David carried on in Saul’s service. After a series of episodes including David’s marriage to Saul’s daughter, Michal, David found himself once again playing the harp for the distressed king with “his spear (ḥănît) in his hand” (1 Sam. 19:9). In this second scene, “Saul attempted to strike David against the wall with his spear, but David eluded Saul while the spear struck the wall. Then David escaped and slipped away in that night” (1 Sam. 19:10).

At this point in the story, Saul’s spear is the tool he uses to try and destroy his competition. Though his competition is an innocent man, Saul does not hesitate to pursue death in order to rid himself of what he perceives as a threat to his throne. His spear, then, can be perceived as a symbol of Saul’s tendency to take up violent means to accomplish his goals and defeat his enemies.

The third scene featuring Saul’s spear resembles the first two, but with a twist. After two attempted murders, David kept his distance from his father-in-law. Jonathan, Saul’s son and David’s friend, attempted to mediate peace between the two. However, while Jonathan questioned the justice of his father’s actions, Saul’s rage stirred: “Then Saul hurled the spear at [Jonathan] to strike him. Therefore Jonathan knew that his father was determined to kill David” (1 Sam. 20:33).

In a moment of rage, Saul’s violent tendencies extended from his hatred for David to his own son. We see that Saul’s violence is not isolated to David, but, in what can only be described as an uncontrollable fit, it threatens anyone who stands in his way.

The final scene where Saul is shown wielding his spear is unique in a couple ways. After David fled the royal house, he came to the tabernacle where Abimelech, the high priest, resided. He asked Abimelech for aid in his flight and, after their exchange, he was sent away with food and a sword (1 Sam. 21:1-9). Unfortunately for Abimelech, one of Saul’s servants, a man named Doeg, was at the Tabernacle. Doeg reported this event to Saul which led to the eventual genocide of Abimelech’s family.

The moment of this discovery opens with this description: “Saul heard that David was discovered, and his men were with him. Now Saul was sitting in Gibeah under a tamarisk tree in a high place, and his spear was in his hand, and all his servants were stationed around him” (1 Sam 22:6). The phrase “his spear was in his hand” is identical to the phrase preceding Saul’s second attempt at David’s life (c.f., 1 Sam. 19:8). At this point, with the motif of Saul’s spear firmly established, we should expect some violent outburst on the part of Saul.

The twist in this scene is twofold. First, Saul escalates his violence. When Jonathan sought to help David, Saul attacked Jonathan. However, when Abimelech helped David, he not only sought the life of Abimelech but his entire family (1 Sam. 22:16). Second, whereas in previous scenes Saul took matters into his own hands, now Saul draws more people into his orbit of violence. Initially he commanded his guard to annihilate the priestly family (1 Sam. 22:17); then, after their refusal, Doeg agrees to carry out this murderous order (1 Sam. 22:18).

The Disarming of Saul

We see in these four scenes the way that Saul relates to his enemies. Now, in a final scene, we see exactly how David achieves victory over his homicidal pursuer. 1 Samuel 26 recounts the final encounter between Saul and David, as well as the final occurrence of the spear motif in Samuel. In fact, the word “spear” (ḥănît) occurs no less than six times in this story (1 Sam. 26:7, 8, 11, 12, 16, 22) indicating a climactic completion for this narrative thread.

The scene opens with Saul and his men camped nearby David. In the dead of night, David and Abishai, one of his commanders, snuck into Saul’s camp while he was sleeping. There they found Saul asleep “with his spear (ḥănît) stuck in the ground near his head” (1 Sam. 26:7). Abishai petitioned David to let him take Saul’s spear and strike him, but David refused. Instead, “David took the spear (ḥănît) and jar of water which was by Saul’s head, and they went their way” (1 Sam. 26:12).

After both disarming Saul of his spear and fleeing a safe distance, David called out with a loud voice to wake up Saul’s camp. Seeing that David spared his life, Saul proclaimed that he had “sinned” and acted “foolishly.” Responding to this “David answered and said, ‘Behold! The spear (ḥănît) of the king! Let one of your servants pass over and take it. And may the LORD reward every man for his righteousness and his faithfulness, since the LORD gave you into my hand today, yet I was not willing to stretch out my hand against the LORD’s anointed’” (1 Sam. 26:22-23).

In this scene, we see both the righteousness and victory of David on display precisely through his refusal to take up the spear, the symbol of conquest through one’s own violence. David never again saw Saul, and Saul, who lived by the sword (and spear), died by the sword.

Jesus Disarms the “Rulers”

The spear motif woven through these narratives present us with a vivid picture both of Jesus’ treatment of enemies and his victory over the spiritual powers. Jesus’ ethic regarding the treatment of one’s enemies was revolutionary: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you” (Luke 6:27, ESV; c.f., Matt. 5:44). Paul picked up on this when writing to the Romans saying, “Never avenge yourself, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord’” (Rom. 12:19, ESV; c.f., Deut. 32:35). By refusing to take up the power of the spear, David foreshadowed the ethic of Jesus. He refused to avenge himself, but trusted God to do justice with his enemy.

Additionally, like David, Jesus eluded death many times (e.g., John 7:1; 8:59; 10:31). However, recognizing that his enemy was spiritual rather than flesh and blood, Jesus gave himself up to the violence of his pursuers. By doing this, Jesus “disarmed the [spiritual] rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him” (Col. 2:15; ESV). And what weapon were they disarmed of? The power of death!

Rather than using violence, Jesus became the object of violence by letting death do its worst to him on the cross. The powers used up their arsenal. Then, through his resurrection, Jesus rendered death powerless, disarming the rulers of their most lethal weapon. And now, because the powers have been disarmed, we can take up the song of the redeemed saying, “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” (1 Cor. 15:55, ESV; c.f., Hos. 13:14).

Like Christ, we do not need to take hold of victory through violence. We have no need of the spear. Our victory is secure in the one who disarmed death. Now we too, as followers of Jesus, can follow his example of enemy-love: never avenging ourselves, refusing to take up the spear, and trusting God to do justice when we are wronged.